


Waiting for the End

by lovedthe_stars_toofondly



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alfons is dying, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, and probably gay but it’s only lightly implied, very depressy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29143179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovedthe_stars_toofondly/pseuds/lovedthe_stars_toofondly
Summary: How much longer did he have? How much longer would this pointless existence keep taunting him? He knew the end was coming, cruel in its slow creeping decay. If it would only hurry up and take him already.
Relationships: Edward Elric & Alfons Heiderich
Kudos: 5





	Waiting for the End

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired from a Tumblr ask meme, requesting me to describe the worst possible ending to Alfons’ story. Basically, Edward returns to Amestris and does not go through the portal again, and the gunshot that killed Alfons in COS only badly wounded him, and he survived long enough to instead die of his terminal illness, slow and painful and alone. Have fun!

The pain.

That never ending pain in his chest. Was it the bullet wound still healing? Was it the cancer? Did it matter anymore? Did anything matter anymore? No.

This is it. This is the end he had known was coming for so long. He never really allowed himself to imagine what it would be like--it was always, ‘I have enough time’, ‘I still have some time’, ‘I’m running out of time’, and he never stopped fighting, stopped running, stopped working until he was forced to admit it. He was out of time. This  _ is  _ the end.

So now he was seeing it firsthand: sleeping the days away in a hospital bed, nurses with bright smiles that never reach their eyes, the metallic taste of blood he can never really rinse his mouth of, and a numbing cold that no blanket or fire could shake. Was that a physical or mental sensation? It didn’t matter. Nothing did. His dreams of space, of making a difference, of leaving a mark on this world, meant nothing. In the end, the work that he had lived for had killed him before he could achieve anything with it. Despite his best efforts, he would be forgotten. A wasted, pointless life.

A grim part of him sort of wished the bullet had finished him off properly. Maybe he could have died happy then, the last act of his life being sending Edward back to his world, back to his brother, to be happy. He was smiling when he was shot. He would have died smiling.

He thought back now and couldn’t remember the last time he smiled.

He knows every nurse’s name at this point, can recognize them by voice--which is good, since he can’t bear to look at their smiles anymore. They don’t bother asking how he’s feeling. They and he both know there’s no point of it.

It’s been days since he got out of bed unassisted.

It’s been months since he last saw Edward.

Edward had shouted Alfons’ name from the seat of a rocket. The rocket that he built with his own hands, from blueprint to model to welding steel plates. His own hands. And Edward’s hands working beside his.

God, if he could have wished for anything, he wished he could feel Edward’s hand in his right now.

Edward would complain about how cold they were. But that would only make the shorter blond hold on tighter, maybe rub them between his own to heat them with friction. They would talk and joke and laugh like nothing was wrong. And maybe Edward would tell him a story. And he would forget this all existed--he would forget the hospital bed beneath him, forget the snow falling outside, forget the taste of blood, forget even the pain--forget everything but Edward’s voice, and Edward’s mind, and Edward’s world.

Edward had promised to take him back to his world, to heal his lungs, to save him. Alfons didn’t let him.

This is all his own fault. Maybe he even deserved it; facing the end alone. Sure there were his friends on the rocket team, and they visited when they could. But that was all he had. No family to mourn him, no success to be remembered for, only a handful of people to miss him. And no Edward to be there with him.

How much longer did he have? How much longer would this pointless existence keep taunting him? He knew the end was coming, cruel in its slow creeping decay. If it would only hurry up and take him already.

In the late darkness of his ward, cold moonlight glowing weakly through the window, he curled up on himself in bed, hugging a pillow in his arms and burying his face in it. The tears flowed freely and silently.

He was only seventeen.


End file.
